Chantelle 2

Chantelle

(or Jane's Gift)

I awoke from my post-coital haze. A light Caribbean breeze was easing in through the balcony window, and I turned over to see Jane's long, tanned back, still lightly sheened from the exertions of afternoon sex. Although it was late afternoon, the room was still very warm: in our haste we must have forgotten to turn on the air conditioning. I leaned in gently so as not to wake her, felt the slight tickle on my lips of the light hairs at the back of her neck, breathed in her aroma and lightly kissed the fragrant skin. The last thing I remembered before post-orgasm drowsiness pulled at me like a lead weight was Jane riding me, the sweat glistening on her breasts, her nipples hard from arousal and the slight change of temperature in the room as the sun outside went behind a cloud, her deep-throated cry of triumph (and not caring who heard it), then turning over so I too could finish. The disentangling of slippery limbs, the breathlessness and the shared silence of satiation.

This was the third day of our vacation. The combination of nude beach and a couple of cocktails at lunch instead of the customary beers had been a good one. Unusually, we seemed to be the only English speakers in the shack that passed as a restaurant, and as the alcohol lowered our inhibitions, the conversation turned to the other people on the beach. Who did we find attractive, and, more fun, who did we think the other found attractive. As we returned to our place on the beach we had to walk past several of the people we had been discussing, and it was strangely exciting.

The conversation continued as we lay out on our towels, the sun warming the areas of our bodies that normally stay covered. The buzz from the alcohol and the equally intoxicating aromatic wind coming off the sea created a bubble of sensuality that engulfed us. We looked surreptitiously at the middle-aged couple about twenty feet away: Jane shook her head when I raised my eyebrows and nodded towards the husband, then said under her breath "but you'd totally do her".

His companion was in great shape for her age, with a toned body and a neatly trimmed bush. The biggest sunglasses I had ever seen obscured most of her face, but there was something intriguing about the shape of her mouth that would make most men envy her husband. I smiled, thought about it for a while before also shaking my head. "Doesn't hold a candle to you." It always sounds corny, but I meant it. Even cornier was the fact that I hadn't looked at another woman since I married Jane. Didn't need to.

A couple of minutes later a tall guy in his thirties--Italian by the look of it--walked down to the sea-edge, bending to put his hands in the ocean and rub the water over his arms and shoulders to cool off. I could see Jane admiring his tight glutes, slim waist, muscular build and more than a hint of a six-pack. I smiled and raised my eyebrows questioningly.

Jane looked at me and gave me the grin that said "now that would be interesting." What she actually said was "I think we should go back to the hotel and discuss it, don't you?"

***********

We had been using fantasy in our sex life for about a year now. It had begun late one night watching a movie, one of those supposedly arty French films which are more or less just an excuse for showing lots of skin and sexual situations. It had been a tiring week, and the paper-thin story wasn't holding our attention until the final scene when the two "best friend" male actors slowly undressed the main female character and both made love to her in a very real and arousing way. Suddenly awake, Jane and I turned off the television, almost ran to our bedroom, where, even though there was only one of me, we re-enacted what we could remember of the scene. It was the best sex we had had in ages.

In the next few weeks we didn't talk about it much--perhaps we were both a bit embarrassed--and it wasn't until Jane came home from her masseuse one day with an amazing story that the subject came up again. Long story short, we ended up visiting a sex club for the first time and had an experience there that, in some ways, changed our lives. I had watched her make out with two men on the dance floor, followed them to a private room where they stripped naked and pleasured each other. I was shocked to find how turned on I was to watch her take one in her mouth while the other brought her to orgasm with his tongue. Then they changed places were both hoping to take it to the next level when I joined them and the three of us went wild, me making love to her while the other two did what they could to enhance her pleasure. We had gone home, shell-shocked at what had happened, but in the next weeks and months our love making was inspired by it and we re-lived it often. We even went back to the club a couple of times, but the opportunity for such wild abandon never presented itself again and while we loved the sexual atmosphere and people-watching (we even put on a couple of solo shows ourselves), we never re-captured the excitement of that first visit. We stopped going.

This Caribbean trip was the next winter: we both needed to get away from our jobs for a bit, and we tired of the long, cold winter. Her parents were only too glad to look after our children, moving into our spare room so the kids could maintain their schedules. The sun, the warm air and beach vistas soon restored our spirits, and as I watched Jane relax and come back into her body I knew it had been the right thing to do.

***********

When I stepped out of the shower she was awake, waiting to take her turn. She went up on tip-toe, put her arms round my neck and kissed me. "Wow!" she said.

I smiled. "Let's hear it for naked Italian men walking down the beach!"

She reached down and touched me: in spite of our marathon session, he began to respond. "Silly man: it's all you, babe," and went to wash off our love-making.

We found a nice beachside place for dinner: it wasn't high season and its patio wasn't crowded. Once again, we were the only English speakers. It was a lovely evening, and we were both very content to watch in silence as the sun went down and the colours leaked out of the sky. Suddenly, out of the blue, Jane asked "What would you have wanted to happen if I had gone to talk to Signor Italiano?" (part of our game was making up fun, imaginary names for whoever we were observing.)

I replied "I think more importantly, what would you have wanted to happen?"

Jane paused. "That's what you always say." But she wasn't smiling: her face was serious. "You didn't answer the question."

That was new. I took a sip of wine before replying. For all our fantasizing, we had only actually had other people join us once. "You know how excited I was that time".

Without a pause she said: "I know, it was incredible, but you still didn't answer." When Jane has something on her mind, she can be relentless: clearly she had been mulling something for a while.

I tried again. "I know you don't really understand it, but your excitement is my excitement. Men are so visual: we like to watch porn, and watching you make porn right in front of me like that is off the charts." It wasn't the first time she had heard me say this. It was usually my last line of defense on the few occasions we had had this conversation, and before it had always worked to change the subject, usually leading to a torrid session of love-making.

This time, however, she was ready with her response: "It just seems very one-sided."

I was non-plussed. "When we made love that first time at the club with the other guys helping out, I would hardly call it 'one sided': I seem to remember having a great time."

She was not to be deterred. "That's my point, I know the sex was amazing, but the guys were playing with me, not us. Nobody played with you."

I took a deep gulp of my wine this time, draining the glass. I reached for the bottle, poured myself a couple of inches, then moved to refill hers. She put her hand over it, shaking her head. I was about to try one last derailing technique, something flippant to defuse the tension, along the lines of not being interested in having guys play with me, when she moved her hand from the top of her glass and took mine. "Don't you see that what you want for me, I want for you, too."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw our waitress approaching, then notice too late the moment Jane and I were having and bypass our table. Jane saw it too, and the moment passed. She withdrew her hand, sighed in frustration and sat back in her chair. Time to go. I had a pretty good idea of what the bill was, opened my wallet and pulled out roughly twice as much in cash, slipped it under my newly emptied wineglass, and we left.

Not ready to go back to return to our room, we walked on the beach in silence for several minutes, which neither of us seemed to want to break with small talk. Finally, Jane asked "Well?"

I had to admit it was true, none of our fantasies involved me with other people, always her, probably because it was usually me initiating the fantasy. Why didn't I allow myself to imagine touching someone else, receiving pleasure from another set of hands or lips? "I guess it's just so much easier to create a situation where we find guys to play with," I said. "I wouldn't know how to go about the other way round." Jane was silent. "Even the times we were at the club, there were so few single women waiting around to be picked up, and none watching the action in the rooms we were in. It just never seemed like a possibility, so I never fantasize about it," I ended, lamely. "Our fantasies are exciting because they are possible." I shrugged. "As we proved...."

The moon reflected off the tiny peaks of the evening ocean, and illuminated Jane's blonde hair, which stood out against the dark background of dunes and palm trees. She reached out and gave my hand a squeeze. "I don't have the energy tonight, but perhaps when we next make love we can try a new story? If we need one..." she added.

***********

The weather kept us inside all the next day, and we carefully avoided the subject. Our bodies certainly needed time for recuperation, so we spent the time reading, napping and doing as little as possible. I went to sleep early, leaving Jane surfing on her laptop, headphones in and intent on the screen. The next morning, over breakfast, she announced cheerfully, "I found us a new beach to visit. Feel like a change?" We packed up, jumped in the rental and headed further down the coast.

The endless time shares thinned out here, and for stretches only small open-roofed houses that hadn't been repaired since the last hurricane jutted out of the dunes between the road and the beach. We gathered our things, and walked onto the new beach she had discovered. It was lovely, clean sand, almost no seaweed, and only a few sun worshippers here and there. We passed the usual sign saying 'Beyond here you will find nude sunbathing' or something of the sort, and I headed towards a spot that looked perfect and prepared to set up our things.

"A bit further, babe," said Jane, and carried on walking. We turned a corner, and to my surprise, there was suddenly quite a few people on various towels, beach recliners and chairs, couples and singles, who had been hidden behind the high dunes as the shoreline curved. There was a new spring in Jane's step and I asked "Just what were you researching last night?"

She affected an innocent air. "No idea what you mean," she said, with a look on her face that I knew meant 'shut up and go along for the ride.' She strode away down the beach. Even though she was several paces in front of me, I could feel the grin on her face through the back of her head. As we finally set our stuff down, she looked at me and said enigmatically "There are nude beaches, and there are nude beaches," putting her hair in a tie and slipping out of her sundress.

She was naked underneath, and was fast losing her tan lines. Every time I see her like that I react. I can't help it. She is a beautiful woman, but doesn't fully realise the power she could hold over men if she put her mind to it. That's a good thing, because I don't find the type of woman who does realise it attractive. I moved towards her, took her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Whichever type of beach it is, it's perfect," I said, wishing we hadn't put on our sun lotion in the hotel room. We lay down and let the hot sun work its magic.

It didn't take long for the guys to start wandering past, like sharks attracted to the smell of blood.

Some were subtle in their ogling, some less so, turning and staring while pretending to look out to sea, but the view they were appreciating was not in that direction. I sensed that it was not the time to play our usual game, and they eventually moved on without comment from either of us. After an hour or so we were too hot and went swimming to cool off. She loved floating in the water with her legs wrapped round my back, kissing me and trying to give me an erection.

When we returned to our spot, with me a bit self-conscious at my semi-erection out there for all to see, we discovered that a couple had set up about fifteen feet away from us. They were both already undressed, and she was facing in our direction while he applied sun lotion to her back. Slowly he worked his way from her waist up to her neck, and she lifted her dark hair out of the way so it wouldn't get oily. Then, without missing a beat, his hands moved to the front of her body and he began massaging the lotion into her breasts and down her torso. It was hard not to be transfixed by such an open display of sexuality, and it did nothing to help decrease the blood flow below my waist.

I turned to Jane, who had noticed too. She had a secret smile on her lips, and was holding out our bottle of lotion. "Always re-apply after swimming, right?"

I grinned. "Happy to oblige," I said, and put my hand on her shoulder to turn her round so I could get her back.

"Uh-uh", she said, "get behind me mister." She had no intention of missing the show that was being put on for our benefit.

Sometimes I will admit, I am a little dim. I can be slow in realising the way a situation is developing, but even I was now beginning to connect the dots between the blue light emanating from Jane's laptop yesterday evening and this new destination she had made sure we came to. Just what did she mean by "There are nude beaches and there are nude beaches"?

Feeling that I was about to find out, I stepped behind her, squeezed some lotion into my hand and started massaging. Since I am almost a foot taller, I could see over Jane's head, and therefore had as good a view as she did, as she intended. As I massaged the lotion into Jane's back I watched the woman opposite close her eyes and appreciate the way she was being touched. I was fast becoming as hard as I had been in the water with Jane's legs wrapped round me. Jane felt it too, and reached behind her to pull me closer. When my hands reached her buttocks, she leaned back into me transferring some of the slippery liquid from her back onto my erection, and started rocking slowly backwards and forwards, feeling my hardness against her lower back.

Fifteen feet away, the show continued. The man, slightly older than his companion, hair bleached by the sun, a shell necklace on a leather string round his neck and with fashionable designer stubble, stopped his massaging just as his fingers reached her pubic hair, gently brushed lower, just once, causing her to gasp. She grabbed his hand, though not crossly I noticed, said something inaudible, and the man turned round to receive his dose of lotion. I did the same, glad that my erection would now be facing away from them. "Just what were you researching last night?" I asked Jane.

She moved in front of me to get my chest, starting not with my neck but first bending down to lick my right nipple, which she knew would drive me crazy. "Complaints?" she asked as she pulled gently on both of them, rolling them between between her thumb and index finger before making sure they were well slathered in lotion. My erection twitched uncontrollably. "None" was all I could manage.

Sun protection administered, we lay down on our towels. I glanced over and saw that the other couple was sitting in their beach chairs, engaged in conversation. Now the show was over--they had clearly wanted us to watch--I turned my attention to the rest of the beach. There were seven couples in our immediate vicinity, all spaced about ten to twenty feet apart, and all naked. In the next twenty minutes or so I saw two of the couples move closer together until a conversation started. When I looked back they had begun to share the sun lotion application ritual. The men knelt down and put their knees either side of the women's torsos, rubbing quickly down their backs to concentrate on the less tanned flesh below.

Then, as if by a pre-arranged signal, the men traded places, this time working their way up from tanned calves to the edge of the tan lines, gently stroking the inner thighs with unmistakable intent. I realised suddenly that the women didn't seem to care which man was touching them; one of them even adjusted her position by opening her legs to allow more complete access. I looked at Jane and saw that she had abandoned all pretense of reading her novel and was an entranced as I was. She smiled at me, opening her eyes wide and raising her eyebrows to say "Wow!"

They were soon surrounded by a small group of on-lookers, mostly single guys and one older couple, but it didn't faze them in the least. We were too far away to see the details, but even at this distance we could tell when the massaging graduated to open groping. After a while, one of the women turned over and opened her legs for the man kneeling over her. I expected him to start caressing her breasts, but he started kissing her belly, slowly moving downwards until his head was between her thighs, where he explored with his tongue as well as his lips. The other man, who was bald with a goatee, had also changed position, moving over the woman he had been massaging as if he were doing push-ups, rubbing his erection between the perfect curve of her cheeks. She turned her head and said something to him, and he got off her and lay on his back. Her red hair shining in the bright sunlight, she knelt by his waist and started stroking him. I noticed that some of the surrounding voyeurs were also now openly playing with themselves, and the older couple kissed while the husband played with his wife's breasts.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said a voice behind us. Startled, we turned round to see the dark-haired woman walking towards us, her towel over her shoulder. Before either of us could come up with a response, she lay it on the sand next to Jane and sat down. "I couldn't believe it at first either."

Now that she was closer I could see the auburn highlights, probably the result of sitting in the sun often with sea-wet hair, the tiny freckles on a delicately shaped nose, and pale blue eyes that kept you at a distance. Not as young as I had first thought, but still in her late twenties, I would say. There was a quiet centeredness about her that was intriguing. She continued "I'm not sure who enjoys it more, the people watching or the four of them who like to be watched."

She didn't seem to expect a reply, being intent on the developing sex scene. There was a strange camaraderie between the three of us, as if the act of watching connected us somehow. The woman who was being licked disengaged from her lover, rolled over and started kissing Mr. Goatee (as I nicknamed him), who closed his eyes in pleasure as he was doubled-teamed. The red-head bent down, and took him in her mouth, moving her head back and forward, her hand enveloping his shaft as it slipped between her lips. The 'spare' man watched for a while, and then positioned himself behind the red-head, one hand caressing the lovely curves of her rear end, while the other explored between them. I heard Jane's sharp intake of breath as we watched him enter her, and I looked away from the action for a second to scan her face and try to gauge her reaction. Her face was a mixture of surprise and arousal, and there was a slight flush on her cheeks. By contrast, our new friend's face was impassive: only her erect nipples betrayed her excitement.